


We've Got Time

by allineedisaquill



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Bisexual Pat (Ghosts TV 2019), Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allineedisaquill/pseuds/allineedisaquill
Summary: The Captain has been alone with his thoughts for far too long. Pat thinks it's time that changed, and it just so happens to take a full-blown argument to reach that conclusion. Sometimes, being told it's okay is all it takes for a dam to finally break.Or: It starts with Pat telling the Captain to naff off, and it all rather escalates from there.(Set during the events of 2x02 "About Last Night")
Relationships: The Captain/Pat (Ghosts TV 2019)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 106





	1. There's Too Much Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm back with a 3-part fic, and yes, there will be smut. Ghost smut, the best kind. So no peeping, kids. You've been warned. I've been sitting on this one for months, picking away slowly and editing and re-editing. I've finally had enough, so now it's here for your own reading pleasure. Enjoy it!
> 
> P.S. The World In Colour is still underway, the next chapter is coming soon - promise! Thanks for your patience, you all know how this year's been. Ha. Haha. I think you can forgive slow updates, right? Please. Okay.

Pat didn’t know he had it in him until it happened.

When they’d seen Alison and Mike return home to continue their party, all he’d wanted to do was join in, but the Captain had been steadfastly against it and insisted on sending him to alert Alison at once.

But Pat didn’t _want_ to be the Captain’s messenger. He was frustrated and at his limit. He wanted to dance. He wanted to let himself go and have fun and, albeit for a brief time, to just forget his situation. He so rarely had the chance to escape the reality that he was dead and stuck, and he couldn’t help but resent the Captain for expecting him to pass it up. Despite being well acquainted with the Captain’s moods and tendencies by that point, he also couldn’t quite understand why the Captain wasn’t more tempted by it.

He made a split-second decision, and though it was hasty in a way he suspected would bite him on the bottom later, it wasn’t enough to stop him. If the Captain wanted Alison to stop the party, he would just have to tell her himself.

“Oh naff off, you wazzock!” Pat cried out in the face of the Captain’s anger, to an eruption of applause.

Emboldened despite the applause not necessarily being his to claim, Pat stood his ground, summoning the courage to not only defy the Captain but to double-down on it.

“Out of it!” He shouted, jabbing an angry finger in the air.

He watched on with a swallow as the Captain was then practically forced from the festivities by a determined-looking Robin.

Pat stood with his arms limp at his sides and felt just a bit bad, the cheer of the crowd only a temporary balm to his inevitable guilt. He’d probably (no, _definitely_ ) gotten a little carried away, pseudo-drunk on the energy of the party-goers and the music.

Hindsight was always 20/20. He chewed his top lip as he thought on whether he should chase after the Captain and apologise.

Then the Captain’s words replayed in his head as if on cue, specifically the ones that called him a “spineless little traitor”. In the end, they made up his mind for him, a renewed anger making his blood boil. He fled the room in pursuit not with an apology burning on his lips, but an impressive string of expletives he couldn’t wait to launch in rapid succession at the unsuspecting, uptight _git_.

He passed a crying Kitty on the staircase, being consoled by Mary and Robin.

“Oh, Pat!” She began, her sad face brightening in his presence. “Has Alison—”

“Not now!” Pat snapped.

He paused when Kitty stared at him in shock, her watery eyes causing him to grimace and lower his voice; he could afford to apologise to one ghost that evening, at least. “Sorry, Kitty, I just really need to sort something. I’m sure you’re in good hands.” He patted her shoulder a few times sincerely.

Kitty resumed a quiet blubbering. Pat internally grimaced.

“Oh. Captain call you wazzock,” Robin told Pat with a deep laugh, airy and pleased with himself. He pointed up the staircase. “Second ago. Was very mad - no surprise there.” He smirked and grasped absently at his fur pelts.

 _The Captain was mad? The gall!_ Pat’s eyes narrowed. Out of the two of them, Pat was the only one with any right to be angry. He shoved his glasses up his face and levelled a displeased look Robin’s way. “I’ll give him something to be mad about,” he grumbled.

With that, he stomped up the rest of the stairs.

His first stop was the room he and the Captain had been in before, one that overlooked the front garden, but the Captain was nowhere to be found. Fanny was still there, though, staring disapprovingly out of the window.

“Don’t suppose you’ve seen his Lordship?” Pat asked, arms crossed. 

Fanny pulled a face. “Someone’s in his bad books, and I’ll leave it at that. I see that commotion downstairs in my ballroom still hasn’t ceased.”

Pat waved her off. “Oh, screw that and screw his bad books!” He ignored her gaping mouth and scandalised expression. “Did you see where he went?”

She tutted and sighed. “Where does he always go? He didn’t barter for that garden view for nothing, you know. It has a beautiful, soothing appeal. When I was alive, I kept that garden pristine. It was a pleasure to view it in the evenings, and over the years the land saw the finest guests—” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He brushed off her words with another wave of his hands and then scarpered before her sharp tongue could reprimand him for it. He had enough on dealing with _one_ grumpy arsehole, let alone two.

True to Fanny’s word, though, Pat found the Captain in the quarters he had practically begged for. Perhaps he’d ask why he wanted it so desperately, once this whole business was behind them.

He decided to forgo his usual polite _“knock knock”_ and instead popped his head through the door. He went unseen by the Captain who remained in his own window, staring out at the garden in seemingly deep thought if the crease between his brows was anything to go by. A small surge of guilt appeared in Pat’s stomach, but it was swiftly overtaken by his anger once again as he stepped fully into the room.

“I hope you’re in here thinking about saying sorry,” he said crossly.

The Captain turned, quick and sharp, his swagger stick held tight in both hands as his shoulders went rigid. He rose to his full height, instantly on the defensive. “Now with respect, _Patrick_ , I think it’s you who owes _me_ the apology. First for defying my orders, and second for the complete disrespect you showed me downstairs.”

Pat didn’t back down, not one bit. He squared his own shoulders and shoved his glasses up resolutely. “I’ve told you before, we’re not your soldiers. You can’t bark orders and expect us all to fall in line. Tonight was a chance for us all to let our hair down. Why’d you have to be a stubborn sod and ruin it?”

“It’s a matter of _principle_ ,” the Captain insisted, his stick moving animatedly through the air as he spoke. “It’s late, and that music is far too loud. Now, all I asked you to do was to respectfully tell Alison—”

“You could have told her yourself!” His voice was high and shrill but he didn’t care. “You’re “ranking officer” as you always tell us, so why not do it yourself instead of delegating all your petty orders to me? You’re so keen to throw your weight around, after all.”

The Captain rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time to be chasing everyone who runs amuck in this house. I do enough wrangling of the dead ones, nevermind the living. Delegating is what a leader _does_. You should know that; you were one.”

Pat waved a hand and screwed his face up in a wordless scoff. “Hardly the same thing, is it - kids and soldiers? Anyway, I don’t see why you can’t just have a bit of fun for once in your life. _Death,_ even. It might do us all a bloody favour.”

The Captain’s face darkened somewhat, offence clearly and quite instantly taken. He stepped in closer and Pat was suddenly reminded of just how tall and imposing the Captain could be, especially in his uniform with its shiny pips and buttons. Especially up close, with his hardened eyes like pure ice.

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?” The Captain bit out harshly.

Pat swallowed once, then stood his ground for the second time that night. He poked the Captain’s chest, and he was sure it was a mistake even as he did it but he couldn’t take it back. “It means you need to loosen up.”

“What I do-” the Captain said, pausing to jab his finger into Pat’s chest in return, much to the other man’s affront, “-is _none_ of your business.”

“It is!” Pat amped it up and shoved roughly at the Captain’s chest with both hands. The Captain gasped. _Good_. “It _is_ when we’re all stuck together and you ruin the fun for everyone else! You and Lady B, with your sticks up your arses and your bloody rules!”

The Captain towered over him and shoved him back, well and truly provoked. Pat stumbled a few steps but regained himself. “There is _nothing_ in my rear, thank you very much. As for rules, Patrick, they keep _order_. Everyone knows their place and what’s expected of them. Perhaps if you’d enforced a few more, one of your lads wouldn’t have shot you with a weapon, hm!? Think about that!” By the end, the Captain’s voice had risen several octaves, almost as high as the brows on his forehead.

Pat rarely got so angry that he snapped. In fact, he was positive the ghosts could count only on one hand the amount of times he’d gotten truly enraged. Which was why it took the Captain wholly by surprise when Pat grabbed two handfuls of his tunic lapels and brought their faces dangerously close.

“That crosses the line!” Pat hissed. “You take it back _right now_.”

Many things went through the Captain’s mind as time seemed to slow down. The first was that he hadn’t been so close to a man since years before he died and the proximity of Pat, even in anger, was enough to stir emotion within him. The second was that Pat’s eyes usually radiated warmth but that warmth had turned to an inferno. The third was that he was well and truly done for. He swallowed as a helpless enamoured feeling engulfed much of his own remaining anger.

He couldn’t go there. He cleared his throat and blinked down at the smaller man, looking every bit as nervous as he felt. If he could just deescalate the situation, they’d be tickety-boo and he wouldn’t be caught out. “Now, Patrick, let’s not get heated—”

“Too late,” Pat interrupted quickly, putting a stop to his meager attempt. “You saw to that when you said what you said. Why are you _always_ like this? Maybe if you “caroused” a bit more, as you put it, you’d be happier and less bothered about what every bugger else is doing.”

“I’m happy enough as I am,” the Captain lied, quick and indignant. To the ignorance of Pat, he had spent his whole life unable to carouse - at least openly and free of persecution.

Pat rolled his eyes and released him, some of the fight leaving him as he did. “Oh, give it a rest. We both know it’d’ve done you some good. And you could have come with me, you know. Would it have hurt you to have just gone downstairs and enjoyed yourself?”

“Forgive me for being unable to see how frolicking amongst drunken living young adults who _can’t even see me_ would constitute as enjoyable,” the Captain said snarkily, refusing to get to the true heart of the matter in favour of petty arguing. He could do petty; petty was safer than anything else. “Wanting a bit of peace and quiet is hardly the crime of the century.”

 _Neither is giving in to your feelings_ , Pat wanted to say, but he bit his tongue just barely. “You’re impossible!” He huffed instead, on the heels of a deep groan of frustration. “Acting like you’re above it all when it’s bloody obvious you’re just holding yourself back.”

The Captain glowered; it was too close to home, and fear rattled in his otherwise still rib cage. “Holding myself back from _what_ , exactly? From lowering myself to everyone else’s standards?” He hissed.

“From all of it!” Pat threw his hands up in defeat and let them fall to his sides again. “It’s not just tonight, it’s _everything_. When it boils down to it, you’re just so scared of what everyone will say or think that you shout at us for doing things that you daren’t.”

It hit a nerve and Pat knew it. He saw it in the way the Captain’s shoulders first went rigid, then slumped. His moustache twitched, as did his brows, and he turned away to face the window and swallow heavily. Between his hands, his swagger stick turned over and over in an anxious display Pat knew all too well. They stilled as soon as they started, however, as though the Captain was over-aware of his every move. His knuckles went white from the grip.

“Coward now, am I?” He shook his head minutely and laughed. “You have _no_ idea what I’m afraid of,” he said slowly, tightly. “Don’t stand there and insult me as if you know me when you do not, Pat. None of you do.”

Pat laughed too, a short and bitter thing. “And whose fault is that? In all these years, Captain, you’ve never even told us your _name_.”

Silence, and then, “You couldn’t possibly understand.” His head turned Pat’s way just barely, and the light of the moon caused his stubborn, damp eyes to glint.

Enough was enough. Pat marched the few paces between them until he could spin the Captain around with one firm pull on his shoulder. The older man gaped at him, his lips parted, and Pat rose to his tiptoes until their faces were as close as he dared put them.

“Try me.”

“What do you want me to say?” The Captain asked, far louder than he needed to with their faces so close together. “That I’d like to give in to the everyday urges and mundane fantasies you’re all so riddled with but I _can’t_ , because the second I do, I risk losing whatever authority and respect I have left in this miserable existence? Would you strip me of my title, Patrick? My position, everything I worked for?” The Captain searched his face, eyes desperate and large and so deeply _sad_.

Pat frowned and raised a hand. The Captain flinched but otherwise didn’t move, even as Pat traced a finger over the medal bar above his breast pocket. “You’re more than this, you know,” he said. “Especially after so many years. Nobody would think any less of you if you decided you wanted to let go a bit. We’re _dead_ , Cap. It’s the least we deserve, isn’t it? The world won’t stop spinning just because you hang up your uniform for an evening. Haven’t you bloody earned it?”

The Captain’s face pleaded with him. “This is all I _have_. Strip away my uniform and there’s nothing left,” he admitted, finally.

“D’you wanna put that to the test?”

They stared at each other, the Captain in confusion until he watched Pat’s eyes flit down to his lips. All at once he understood what the other man meant to imply and he swallowed, his own gaze daring to venture south.

“I don’t…” The Captain whispered, aimless, unsure. “Pat?”

Pat made no attempt to move out of his space, and the Captain definitely did not imagine Pat’s own eyes flitting to his lips for a second time. When their eyes met again, Pat’s blazing gaze had melted back to welcoming and familiar warmth. “I’m telling you it’s okay to let go,” he said. “It’s _okay._ ”

All his life, The Captain had been holding back, and now they both teetered on the precipice of the choice he had to make: hold back again or finally give in?

Too many touch-starved and repressed years made the choice for him. Before he could run scared, before he could tell himself no, he took Pat’s promise and he closed the small space between them.

It felt like pure bliss.

Pat’s welcome was warm and instantaneous, stubby fingers grasping at the Captain’s shoulders and bumping over the cool metal of the pips there. His sure hands drew him in, close enough for their chests to brush and assure the Captain that it was _still_ okay. It would always be okay.

The Captain wrapped his arms tightly around Pat’s waist in return.

It was a dizzying pressure, slightly harder than Pat liked his kisses typically but it was how it was always going to be in a moment like that, tensions as high as they were. Pat allowed himself to enjoy the hard slant of the Captain’s mouth against his own for a few moments more before he guided it into something softer. He parted his lips and kissed him anew, the bristles of their moustaches rubbing faintly as he did.

Of course the mere hint of anything more tender drew a sound from the Captain’s throat. He seemed to come back to himself, then, and he pulled himself away.

Their mouths still hovered close and their chests both heaving even though they didn’t strictly need to breathe. Pat worried that their actions had caught up with the older man and he was about to shut him down and flee.

“I’m sorry,” the Captain said instead, surprising him.

Pat laughed and smoothed his hands from the Captain’s shoulders down to his chest. “For interrupting a perfectly good snog or for being a wazzock?”

The Captain barked out a laugh of his own. “Both?” His brows knitted together like he, too, was just awaiting an inevitable rejection, for the metaphorical other shoe to drop.

“Flaming well should be,” Pat said, but any effort to cling to his remaining bluster and defense was futile with the way the Captain looked at him. He couldn’t see the bossy man, demanding this and that, stuck in a role he could no longer truly serve. Thinly-veiled hope replaced his usual stern demeanour along with lingering fear and want, so much _want_ , risen to the surface to gasp for air after countless years of submersion.

“I’m sorry,” the Captain tried again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Loath as I am to admit it, you’re right.” He swallowed and lowered his head in shame. “I think perhaps I do need to learn how to loosen up. Old habits die hard though, don’t they? You can take the man out of the war, but you can’t—”

Pat slid his hand north to cup the back of the Captain’s neck. “Hey, hey,” he soothed, thumbing at the cropped hair there. “Forgiven, and I’m sorry too - I was upset with you, but I never meant to insinuate that you’re a coward. I know none of this is easy for you, Cap, I do. I didn’t mean to lose my rag. There’s probably lots I don’t understand, but I’d like to.”

“Perhaps I’ll tell you,” the Captain said quickly, nervously. He would tell him of Havers, of the bomb, of buried secrets. He would tell him of nights spent staring at the ceiling, of his own internal war that ran concurrent to the one he’d served. He would even tell him his name. There was so much he wanted to say, secrets so plentiful that they filled him from the inside and were practically bursting at his seams, but it wasn’t the place. “Eventually, that is,” he added, eyebrows pinching. “One thing at a time.”

“Well we’ve got time, haven’t we?” Pat said with an easy smile as he gently coaxed the Captain to look at him; he’d learned that bearing grudges as a ghost was a lot more difficult than letting bygones be bygones.

Besides, he was _much_ more interested in getting back to what they’d started.

The Captain balked when Pat began to lean up, eyes darting to his door. “Ah!” He said sharply, causing Pat to jolt back a bit as insecurity reared its ugly head. “What if we’re spotted, man?” He asked, quiet and urgent.

“Everyone knows not to disturb you,” Pat said. When met with an arched brow, he toed at the carpet with one foot and continued sheepishly, “Well, you know. Usually.”

There was a pause as the Captain considered it, looking unsurely from the door back to Pat a few times. Then his gaze fell to the smaller man a final time, eyes slowly trailing lower.

“Oh, to _hell_ with it.” Spurred on by fingertips that still soothed his nape, he threw his stick to one side and cupped Pat’s face in both hands, diving down to seal their lips in a firm kiss.

If they were both honest, it had been a long time coming. They had more in common than they often cared to admit, perhaps the reason they’d butted heads in the first place. There had been months of secret pining, finding excuses to sit together or be paired off for one ridiculous errand or another. More and more hours were spent at each other’s sides until it was only a matter of time before they were finally there, Pat walking the Captain backwards towards his bed as the kiss deepened. 

The Captain found himself dropping to sit on the bed’s edge and Pat, so often the picture of unassuming sweetness, stood between his legs like he damn well belonged there. 

Pat untucked his tie from his jacket and let the thin strip of charcoal wool trail through his fingers. It was such a small act but nevertheless a disruption to the order the Captain kept - or rather, _tried_ to keep - even in his death. He was always so precise and pristine, and Pat was determined to prove he could exist outside the restrictive confines of his uniform. He didn’t have to hide behind it; he was more than the sum of his ghostly parts.

He loosened the knot with the ease of someone who’d spent years perfecting them and when he was done, he broke their lips apart in favour of pressing his to the Captain’s jaw eagerly. There was a fine dusting of stubble there, so closely-shaven that it barely grazed his kisses, but it still made Pat smile.

“Good lord,” the Captain garbled quickly, flustered but impressed. “You’re good at this.”

“You sound surprised. Charming,” Pat said as he worked kisses along the length of his strong jawline.

“N-Not at all,” the Captain managed, feeling as though he had to wade through a dense fog just to _think_. “Carry on.”

Pat lowered himself to the Captain’s lap, a warm thigh either side of his, and the Captain found that forming complete sentences became decidedly more difficult from there on out.

The Captain may have shook with the fear of being entirely out of his depth, the prickling feeling of exposure before he’d even had his tie fully removed, but he’d have had to have been a madman not to pull Pat closer the second he had the chance. His hands moved of their own accord, long fingers curled into the soft flesh of Pat’s hips above his belt. He squeezed just once, and the delighted gasp and consequent laugh he earned from the man in his lap struck a match deep within his gut.

They kissed again, all breathless vigor and enthusiasm.

Between their bodies, Pat slid off the loose tie completely. It fell to the wayside from Pat’s grasp, forgotten, and the careless treatment of his uniform would have bothered the Captain had he not been so thoroughly distracted. Reprimanding Pat was the furthest thing from his mind when he was making him feel so _good_.

When Pat’s hands moved to the thick belt at the Captain’s waist, their lips collided again. The Captain tried in vain to suppress a shiver as the leather slid from its buckle before falling open. The stifling intimacy only grew when Pat stood, beckoning him up too, before turning the Captain on the spot by two fingers that hooked into his belt loops.

“Pat?” There was the unsure intonation again.

Pat kissed his wool-clad shoulder to soothe away his worry, inhaling spice and sandalwood, and began to undo the smaller fastening on his Sam Browne.

The realisation made the Captain’s breath catch. “Oh,” he murmured. “Yes.”

Loosened, Pat slid it through the strap at his shoulder and carefully pulled the whole belt off.

He appeared in front of the Captain again to catch his mouth in a soft kiss, then got to work next on the rest of the tunic. Its shiny brass buttons no longer had obstruction and were popped one by one until Pat could slide his palms beneath the open fabric, fingers exploring a firm chest and smooth suspenders for the first time.

 _“This is all I have. Strip away my uniform and there’s nothing left.”_ The Captain’s words echoed in his head, the deciding reason why Pat pushed the heavy garment slowly from his shoulders and smiled into the kiss triumphantly when it fell.

“See?” Pat whispered. “You’re still you under it all. Told you.”

The Captain stared at him longingly, his own arms returning home to Pat’s waist. His throat bobbed with a swallow. “You know, I’ve spent so long here like this that I grew afraid of what I’d be without it all - the rank, the respect that goes along with it.”

As he spoke, Pat stroked the hair at his nape in gentle encouragement.

“When I died, I resorted to what I knew. I fell into the role. It hasn’t been without occasional backlash, of course-” Pat snorted at that, remembering all the fall-outs, especially in recent times. “-but I felt that my leadership was the only thing I could confidently offer to the group. I’m not sure what the rest of me _is_ without this anymore...or perhaps I do, and I’ve been deliberately avoiding it. Either way, I’m _definitely_ not keen on the rest of them seeing it.”

“Can I be honest?” Pat asked.

“Of course.”

Pat shrugged. “Well for starters, I don’t think the others could care less. I get where you’re coming from, but they’ve got their own problems.” He drew the older man in for a quick kiss, warm and sweet, and rested their foreheads together. “They respect you, but they also _like_ you. Maybe not all the time, but that’s how it goes, innit? But I promise they do.”

The Captain couldn’t quite believe it. He’d been there when they all stood about and mocked him. He knew what they thought.

“I can tell you’re overthinking it,” Pat said, reading his mind. “We’ve all said things we don’t mean, tonight’s proof of that. It doesn’t mean you don’t have a place, though. You’re part of the team.” He smiled softly to himself, squeezing the Captain to him.

“As for what you offer, it’s not about that. None of us asked to be here and we’re just trying to get by. I had many skills in life that I can’t apply here anymore. If I got hung up on that, I’d never leave my room. So sod how useful you are. All that matters is that you’re here.”

The Captain smiled in spite of himself. “You make it sound that simple.”

“Sometimes it just is,” Pat said, leaning back. “My point is: you’re okay, and worth a lot more to us than being a leader. You are to me, anyway.” His face turned bashful, his smile toothy and a bit awkward. He cleared his throat after a second, trying to rectify it. “I think you’ve just been alone with your thoughts for too long.”

“I’m inclined to agree with the last part,” the Captain replied softly. He wondered just _what_ he meant to Pat. A wise man might have worked it out from the way Pat held him like something precious and kissed him like it was obvious, but he never had claimed to be wise.

Pat smiled. “Good job I’m here then.” His fingers trailed back to the Captain’s suspenders, sliding his thumbs beneath them. “Now, I think you said something about seeing the rest of you?”

“Good _lord_.”

Pat wound his arms around the Captain’s neck. “Not quite. Just me,” he teased, then he pulled the Captain close for a kiss as sweet as honey.

The Captain let himself be drawn in, and for the first time since he had died, he was _truly_ content with his existence. He was okay; the world hadn’t stopped spinning, as he’d so often thought it would whenever he so much as entertained the idea of what they were doing - and what they were _about_ to do. There was hope, and there was love, and before that night he hadn’t been sure of either.

He hadn’t known Pat had it in him until it happened, but he was so very glad he did.


	2. Underneath I Am The Same As You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be a 2-parter, but it's actually going to be 3 chapters now. Surprise! Enjoy this one - I really tried to capture their characters through all of it, and I hope that comes through. Thank you!

He hadn’t always known that it was only men who could unlock the feelings he felt in that moment, but with Pat above him pressing kisses to his skin, it was hard to imagine any other truth being his. There was the brush of his moustache and how it tickled slightly when it touched more sensitive ground, and the callused fingertips - years of archery, no doubt - that, in every inch they covered, told him it was all alright. Pat’s unrelenting, tender attention turned him relaxed and pliant, his mouth open in a silent shape of awe.

His shirt and suspenders had long since joined the rest of his uniform along with Pat’s vest, forgotten on the floor, and Pat was busy peppering kisses to the soft edges of his belly until it quivered. The feeling made the Captain release an involuntary laugh, airy and delighted, and his whole body flushed at the smile Pat aimed at him in reply.

The Captain’s fingers flexed by his sides and he could only stare, unable to believe each sensation as it came. It was almost like it was someone else entirely, lying there and feeling those things, resisting every urge to bear up into each tiny touch.

Pat saw the quirk of his fingers, mistook it for something other than pleasure.

“Okay?” He asked, a flat hand pressed comfortingly to his stomach. Its warmth seemed to seep into the Captain’s soul, and even if he hadn’t noticed it happening, Pat had managed to make a home there already. As easy as night turning to morning, Pat just _was_ \- familiar and comforting and effortless.

He nodded, feeling grounded again. “Yes,” he managed. “Carry on?”

Pat smiled wide and pressed another kiss right where his skin disappeared beneath his thick woollen trousers. “I’d love to, if you’re sure.”

“ _Please._ ” He so very rarely said the word, but he wasn’t above it, not when it meant as much as this. If anything was worth an earnest plea, it was the way Pat was making him feel.

He watched with his mouth ajar and brows pulled taught as Pat undid his trousers and slid them gently down his legs until they were off. The out-of-body feeling returned, yet he was simultaneously so aware of every single way he was exposed. He deliberately did not look down at the evidence of his interest in his underwear, the only remaining barrier between complete nudity.

“Okay?” Pat asked again, meeting his eyes where he previously definitely _had_ been looking.

The Captain nodded. His throat felt impossibly tight.

Pat’s voice softened further, beyond belief. “Words, Cap. Speak to me, yeah? Communication is key,” he told him proudly. All the while, one of his hands rubbed comfortingly over the Captain’s left knee, the one that often clicked. While the motion seemed idle, the Captain suspected it was likely a deliberate act intended to soothe him. It worked, either way.

“Sorry,” the Captain rushed out. He felt a little foolish and more than a little out of his depth, but he was hard-pressed to take any other route than trust. Pat watched him carefully and touched him carefully, handled him with kindness and dignity and genuine feeling. There was nothing to fear except the unknown, but he was more than willing to learn to know it if it was Pat showing him the way. 

Pat shifted back up the bed and settled at his side, propped up on one arm. His free hand cradled the Captain’s face, thumb tracing just beneath the fine lines that spread from the corners of his eyes. The Captain could do nothing but close his eyes and swallow - in reverence, in yet more awe. The brief respite from so much attention on other parts of his body was welcome, and he enjoyed the touch and leaned into it without pause.

“If it’s too much, we can stop. I meant it; we’ve got time. I know this is all new.”

The Captain pried his own eyes open, gaze sharp. “No. I mean, _yes,_ it is. It’s new. All of it. But I don’t wish to...to stop, if that’s alright with you.”

“Okay,” Pat said.

“And if you could take those off?” The Captain prompted, eyebrows raised endearingly high as he pointed to Pat’s shorts. His voice was broken until he cleared his throat. “That is to say, I’m feeling, ah...unfairly exposed, if you catch my meaning.”

Pat glanced down at his shorts. “Oh, right. Yeah, hang on a sec.” He wrestled with them for a few moments and then finally kicked the offending khaki shorts from where they hung off his ankle. He kicked slightly too enthusiastically, however, for the shorts were catapulted across the room. He stared after them and adjusted his glasses on his face. “Blimey. Glad they didn’t go through the wall.” 

Pat felt a shaking beside him and when he looked, he found the Captain's shoulders moving with quiet laughter. “Would have been terribly awkward to explain,” the Captain said amusedly, eyes bright and keen. Pat’s complete lack of grace did something to further ease his own self-consciousness.

The moment was a sight Pat could barely believe; the Captain lying beside him, laughing openly, in just his pants. The idea that nobody had ever been privy to the same sight before him was baffling and nothing short of mad. The Captain was brilliant, beautiful, sharp as a whip and yet so utterly ridiculous. He was… Well, he was _human,_ as human as they came, and Pat wanted to know all of him. He wanted to know all of the things the Captain had never shared, and he wanted to kiss him and never stop.

Pat had died with so much love left to give, and the idea of finally having someone to give it all to was exciting. It left him giddy, like a bottle of cola that had been shaken and threatened to burst.

Pat’s own laughter joined his. “Shame I can’t take this bloody thing off as well,” he said, pointing to his scarf. “Feel a bit daft, if I’m honest.” He turned a little sheepish, embarrassed, and seemed to shrink in on himself just a bit. 

The Captain shook his head, laughter subsiding. “We’ve been dead for how long, Pat? I think the time for feeling daft, as you put it, has long since passed. Don’t you?”

“You don’t mind it, then? This?” He tapped his arrow and flicked the bottom of his scarf for good measure. “Hardly the biggest turn-on. I mean, imagine this on one of those nudey calendars, hey? They’d laugh me away.” 

“I don’t mind,” the Captain said, simple and serious. “You shouldn’t either.” Pat looked hopeful, his smile returning, and the Captain pressed on with a swallow. “If it has somehow escaped your attention, your neckerchief nor your injury have zero bearing on how… Ah.” 

Pat tilted his head, and when he spoke, his tone was just _daring_ him to be brave. “How what?” 

So he was brave, even if he felt awkward and fumbly. “On how much I want... _this._ To be intimate. With you.” He gestured between them both.

“Show me, then,” Pat teased, reaching out to take the Captain’s hand fondly and run his thumb over his knuckles. He didn’t stop there, fingertips bumping over his wrist and up his arm and finally over his collarbone and shoulder.

The line between the Captain’s brows appeared, deep. “What?”

“Come here.” Pat lifted his arm and beckoned him in.

The Captain went, of course he did, unwilling to spend a second beyond Pat’s embrace if he didn’t have to. Now he knew how it felt, he hadn’t a clue how he’d gone without it for so long, how the truth of what he wanted had evaded him all those years. It was a mystery, but there would be time to unpack it all. Perhaps Pat would even help him to do so. He seemed wise about that sort of thing.

Pat’s touch roamed over warm, naked skin as more of it was put within reach. Over a few dotted freckles and moles his hand explored, learning him and loving him, and then he brought the Captain ever closer by the base of his spine.

“You can touch me, too,” Pat encouraged softly. “Anywhere you like. Show me.”

He appreciated it deeply, and the Captain’s tendency to want to prove himself flared up. It was always just beneath the surface with him, and it extended to _them_ , to the way Pat had asked to be shown with such open want and affection. So he would show him, the way Pat deserved - the way they _both_ did.

The Captain sought out Pat’s mouth first, the kiss warm and slow and wet. It went straight to his belly like a shot of hot adrenaline, his toes curled in delight. He pressed himself in, chest to chest, seeking out more of Pat’s endless supply of soft flesh.

Pat was perfect, the Captain found, as he finally let his curious fingers explore.

His hands were strong; his fingertips were decorated with permanent, hard calluses, a physical symbol of the fraction of Pat’s knowledge, expertise, control. Wherever they touched, the Captain felt them and adored them. He wished to be shown everything they knew how to do, to know how they felt on every patch of his skin, and the thought made him shiver from head to toe.

The rest of Pat’s body was soft on the contrary, invitingly so. His round belly sank and squished against his own as they kissed. The Captain ran a palm along the curve of warm fat, over its folds down the side of his body. It was divine, the feel of him, hand travelling further down and over a hip to reach one chubby thigh. A mix of freckles and acne covered their very tops - the skin his shorts usually concealed - and the Captain’s thumb traced them all the same. They were a quiet reminder of how very alive Pat had once been, affected by hormones and life and the sun, and he even felt the dips of older spots that had become scars during Pat’s life.

He wondered how Pat would feel if his hands ever found the scars his body bore, too.

His shoulders were already a favourite. Unlike the smattering in other places, they were completely _covered_ in warm brown freckles, bursting over his pale skin like spilled cinnamon and nutmeg. The Captain dipped his head only for a second and pressed kisses to the one closest, overcome with the urge and seeing no good reason not to. The fact that he just _could_ did not fail to make him feel euphoric.

When Pat found his lips again, it was with a gentle giggle, so clearly pleased with how the Captain was choosing to show him thus far. Those calluses dragged over the back of his head, over his scalp, and the Captain deepened the kiss eagerly in reply.

The Captain felt a small surge of pride at Pat’s response because yes, it _was_ all new, but he had never been so sure of wanting something in all his life. Nothing had ever felt so right, so natural and freeing and absolutely exhilarating. To touch and be touched in return came more naturally to him than leadership ever had, for one. It came as naturally as breathing had, as going to sleep and waking up still did. It felt good to be with another man and there was no suggestion of shame in that. It was simple. It was just _true,_ and it was his to savour and enjoy. It was his to fall in love with.

He hoped that Pat would be, too.

Though he had given many glimpses of himself in passing, in outbursts, in conversations, in involuntary slips of the tongue... He had never understood enough for it to take full root. Not in his life, not in that house, not ever. Pat was the first to see him for exactly who he was, laid completely and literally bare. He was the first one the Captain had shared himself with one hundred percent, and he wasn’t interested in denying himself. He had no desire to hide how wholly good and empowered he felt by simply _being._

And Pat, sweet and patient Pat, he hadn’t fled. He hadn’t rejected him, not a single part of him. Pat had extinguished any lingering flames of fear and replaced them with burning fires of want.

“Pat. Touch me some more,” he said suddenly, unable to believe how much he wanted, “or do _something_ , just something, I—” 

“I’ve got you, don’t you worry,” Pat told him in the familiar, thick dialect the Captain held so dear. “Let me, hold on.”

Pat nudged a leg between both of the Captain’s and guided one of them over his hip with a warm, sure grasp.

“There we go,” Pat said, caught in his throat but still sweet-sounding and gentle. “‘S’that good for you?” His touch was still there, appearing in reassuring strokes over the back of his thigh.

The Captain grew quiet instead of vocal but he nodded ardently, lips parted, then his eyes screwed up as their hips rolled together for the first time. A slow, delicious moment of friction passed between them like electricity and Pat could only watch for a second more, enamoured by the look on the Captain’s face, before his own face succumbed to the pleasure.

“Oh, good Lord. Go— _Pat._ ” The words were half-smeared against Pat’s lips as Pat kissed him, sudden and desperate, and he didn’t even know quite what he was calling to God for. Just _more,_ more of them and more of Pat and more of the heady, heavenly feelings he was feeling. Every atom of him felt like it had floated away and rearranged, only to form a whole again that was entirely new to him. He bowed his head, fitted it to the crook of Pat’s neck and took a moment to centre himself. If he didn’t, he would surely die a second time.

“I know,” Pat murmured, a hand cradling the back of his head. “I know, me too.”

Pat sounded breathless, stunned, and the Captain slowly peeled himself back so he could look at him and take him in with keen eyes. He longed to see how affected he was, too, to know it truly wasn’t just him feeling so much.

What he found was half-lidded eyes behind glasses and a moustache that drooped with Pat’s parted lips. 

He kissed them without another thought, claiming the sweetest victory of his war-filled life, and Pat gave as much as he got. He licked into the Captain’s mouth and swallowed his answering moan and as it rumbled deep, he chased it with more kisses, devouring it whole.

Since they had died, they had never felt so _alive._ The bass of Mike’s music thumped on the floor below, drifting into their room and their space only distantly, but their bodies moved to a different tempo entirely.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Pat managed, the word slipping out like melted butter as he tore their lips apart. His splayed fingers against the Captain’s thighs slid further north to the plush curve of his rear. Pat squeezed, guiding their hips into another roll, the Captain’s leg hitching higher. It changed the angle just slightly and it was a pure, fresh high to feel the Captain’s hardness grind slow and deliberate against his own.

“Good _Christ,_ ” the Captain breathed, half from the eye-watering rapture and half from the way Pat sounded when he swore. He’d always secretly loved Pat’s potty mouth, how casually defiant it was, how he managed to make crudeness seem friendly. But not then, not in that single utterance. That word was bathed in pleasure, pleasure _he_ was causing, and it made his hips stutter further forwards.

He was so glad Pat had let it be that way; to share those first moments together took the pressure off immensely, and it left no room for self-consciousness or anything that erred on the uncomfortable side of overwhelming. He wasn’t quite ready to float alone in the sea of pleasure, he knew that much, but he could ride the waves with Pat and trust him to keep him afloat when they finally fell apart together.

“ _Pat._ ”

“Yeah,” Pat nodded, agreeing to the unspoken things his name implied. He felt them too, so much and so completely. He found the Captain’s mouth again and it was less of a kiss and more just the pressing of their mouths as their slow pace increased to a desperate chase of more.

The Captain dug his short nails into the soft fat of Pat’s back.

“Cap,” Pat tried, but it was pure gravel. “ _Cap_ , can I…?” He left the question open, even as his fingers snagged in the very top of the Captain’s underwear. Pat was enjoying every second, he was, but he so badly wanted to touch him, to feel him, to make the Captain experience a whole new type of pleasure. “I just want to feel you. Properly, I mean, if that’s— If it’s okay? We don’t have to _._ ”

“You can,” the Captain said, his voice just as shot, “so long as I can, too.” His touch, much less bold and far more ginger and unsure, found its way shakily between them to Pat’s own briefs. “Though I haven’t… I’ve never—” 

Pat kissed his jaw, his cheek, and then his lips. “‘S’okay,” he assured. “Promise.”

When the Captain simply stilled and waited, Pat took his cue. He leaned in, guided their lips to a kiss, and began the careful manoeuvre of their bodies. The Captain moved with him, let himself be eased to his back where Pat could take a gentle hold of his pants and slip them down, down, and finally off.

The Captain couldn’t speak, but a noise broke free from his throat that he had never made before in his life. Instinctively, his hand rose to cover his own face. He remained that way for a few seconds more until he felt Pat at his side.

“Give over,” Pat murmured, gently drawing the Captain’s hand from his face with both of his. He turned his palm upwards and kissed the centre of it. “You’re bloody _gorgeous_ ; you’ve nothing to hide for.”

“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it, “but I’m not _embarrassed._ It’s just so…” He trailed off as his gaze fell south. Pat’s briefs were gone, and his jaw locked in place. He hadn’t realised when Pat had taken them off. “Good _lord,_ how did that happen? _”_

Pat grinned. “Magic.”

“ _Pat._ ” 

“Okay,” Pat soothed, settling beside him. “Come here, then.”

Only when they were on their sides, facing one another with mouthfuls of each other’s kisses, did Pat trail his hand lower. Deliberate and slow, over the soft line of grey-brown hairs from his navel to his groin.

“Can I touch you?” 

The Captain nodded, then remembered his words too. “Yes. _Please_.”

When he finally took the Captain in his hand, he started with what he knew he liked: long, full strokes with a slow, practised ease. He hadn’t touched another man like that in decades, but it wasn’t so difficult to remember - a twist of his wrist on the downstroke, squeeze just barely at the base, keep the rhythm. He heard the noises get stuck in the Captain’s throat again and knew he was doing something right.

The Captain’s brain had ceased. All thought was replaced by a fuzzy static, until all he knew was the basic sensory input of his surroundings - Pat’s touch, the music, and the novel press of lips to his neck.

He tipped his head without thinking, letting Pat get closer. He felt the brief sting of teeth, the balm of his tongue, the tight pressure when Pat sucked his skin. He bucked into Pat’s touch, a knee-jerk reaction, and felt rather than saw the smile that Pat wore. Sharp tingles enveloped his entire body, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. He wished his body could keep the marks that Pat’s heavenly mouth created, but he knew it couldn’t. His memories would have to be enough, and he had zero doubt they would be.

“Okay?” Pat’s soft voice cut through.

“Yes. _God,_ so much yes.”

Pat laughed delightedly against his neck and kissed it a few more times, then he drew back for a proper kiss on the lips. “Do you want to touch me, too? You don’t have to, mind. This is good for me.” He kissed the corner of the Captain’s mouth for good measure, and his hand still moved gently below.

Nothing on God’s green Earth could have stopped the Captain’s answer. “I want to,” he said surely, eyes flickering back to Pat’s mouth again. “But kiss me, please?” He couldn’t do it with eyes on him, couldn’t handle that much fierce and intense intimacy. Pat’s kiss could soothe him, though, make it less daunting.

Pat felt the soft graze of knuckles first, the back of the Captain’s hand against his velvet skin. Then he gasped into the Captain’s mouth as long, sturdy fingers wrapped around him.

He could have wept when the Captain copied his own ministrations, and he could tell the Captain was using every ounce of his remaining concentration to focus on what to do and how best to do it. Pat couldn’t help but wonder how many times the Captain had given in to himself over the years, how many nights he’d quietly brought himself off in the privacy of his room. Then he drifted to the Captain’s life, too, thinking about much the same thing.

The Captain made his fist a little tighter, and Pat had to break the kiss to moan. His own touch responded in kind, moving faster, and when he re-caught the Captain’s mouth, it was harder and wetter than it had been before. More moans were lost to it, hitched sounds eclipsed by their teeth and tongues.

Pat knew when the Captain edged close to release, felt it in the slight hunch of his spine, how his mouth fell open and refused to close again. So Pat littered warm, damp kisses over his jaw and throat, not caring when his glasses bumped him awkwardly. He only cared about the man beneath his hands and his lips. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured breathlessly, aware that every second to pass was another second closer to his own end. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. You can let go.” Another kiss, lingering sweetly over the spot where a pulse would have once thrummed. “I will as well. Let go, Cap.”

The Captain’s orgasm hit with a long, low moan, mouth open wider still, and he let his head fall back in bliss. His hand stilled but it didn’t matter because Pat followed him, falling over the edge with a sharp gasp and his forehead plastered to the Captain’s chest. He stroked the Captain through it for a few more moments before they both fell still, allowing each other a second to just be.

Pat kissed the Captain’s sternum softly. “Okay?” He asked, rubbing a warm hand up and down the Captain’s side. 

The Captain looked at him from where his head remained, the fat gathering under his chin in an easy display of vulnerability that made Pat smile. “Yes,” he managed, throat bobbing with a heavy swallow. “Yes, I’m… I— Are you?” 

“I am,” Pat told him, the grin breaking over his face like the sun over the horizon. “God, come here. Please.” He didn’t have to try much to gather the Captain in his arms, drawing his fingers comfortingly over the broad expanse of his back as they cuddled close - Pat on his back, the Captain on his side.

All the Captain could feel was skin surrounding his own, arms containing him like the banks to a river, and he closed his eyes and burrowed in the feeling. He didn’t know, after all, just how long it would last.

Pat stroked his hair, the back of his neck, his firm shoulder blades, the dimples at the base of his spine. “Still you,” he said quietly, kissing his hair. “You’ve always been, you daft sod. And you’re lovely, by the way. Absolutely bloody lovely.”

He didn’t know when the tears came or precisely why they did, but the Captain could add them to the mounting list of things he had to understand. For the time being, he could simply shield himself with Pat’s soft embrace, his face safe and unseen where he hid it in the soft material of Pat’s scarf.

Pat knew, though. Of course he knew. So he rested his temple on the Captain’s head, closed his own eyes, and squeezed the Captain to him as close as could.

  
  
  


The Captain woke up fully clothed and alone, and of all the variables at play, being alone was definitely the most surprising one.

He knew, of course, that the bed they’d shared for the night would bear no imprint of the other man, nor would it retain his warmth. It was simply the result of them being incorporeal, leaving not even a footprint on the world they still occupied. It didn’t stop how jarring it was, however, the way it appeared as though Pat had never even been there at all. It made his gut twist painfully.

He sat upright on the bed to survey the empty room, and the panic and hurt set in.

He had opened himself up to Pat. He had placed trust in him like he’d placed in no other, and he had in turn been deserted at his most vulnerable. Pat had told him it would be okay, encouraged him to take the leap and ensured he’d catch him and keep him safe, yet he found himself alone all the same.

He felt horrid. He felt _frightened_.

As if he had no other option, the Captain did what he always did when he was afraid: he returned to the defensive, raising his walls to keep himself safe within. Anger swiftly replaced the bruising betrayal and he began steeling himself for whatever Pat would have to say for himself once he actually located him. 

He thought of the way they had taken each other apart and tried to tamp down the rejection that swelled within him. If Pat wanted to be a spineless little traitor after all, then he would let him.

The pain seeped through the cracks, though. It always did, the thing he really felt infringing on the emotion he tried to exude. He never had been good at hiding himself.

He paused on the accusation of Pat’s betrayal. Even if he’d yet to say it out loud, he had to wonder if it was really a fair thing to think. Pat may have given him a reason to be hurt, but he still felt the pang of guilt when he remembered just how tender Pat had been with him, how overjoyed and lovely and so reliably _Pat_.

Memories resurfaced from the early hours of bare skin and hands in places that made his knees weak just to recall. Pat had kissed him, touched him, _loved_ him for the utter lack of a more fitting word. Nobody had ever touched him with such deliberate feeling. Nobody had ever had the chance, and he had indeed never realised he wanted it at all.

He sat still and if he closed his eyes, the ghost of Pat’s touch lingered. Arms around him as he slipped into sleep, arms that felt safe as he laid naked and vulnerable. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes but he refused to let them fall.

The Captain couldn’t comprehend how such an intensity could be forgotten overnight. Pat’s dismissal of him was baffling, and the conflicting information dared him to cling to hope that perhaps he _had_ simply jumped to conclusions. Perhaps Pat had left for a reason he wasn’t aware of and it wasn’t an occasion to worry.

Plus, it wasn’t as though Pat could write a note.

He was truly torn.

He tried to push the hope down. It would do him no good to get caught on sentiment if Pat was going to move on like it had never happened, and he refused to be led on if Pat really had no intention of staying by his side. If he truly had just been a warm body for a lonely ghost, then he wouldn’t be made a damned fool of.

Still, he could barely stand the thought of Pat avoiding him.

So he would avoid Pat first.

Yes, that made complete sense.

He nodded to himself once, left his bed and the memories of the night previous, then marched from his room with a hard expression and a resolve as stubborn as it had ever been.


End file.
